St. Patrick’s Day is my husband’s birthday.
After realizing his last name is Gallagher, the inevitable question is asked.
Why isn’t your name, Patrick?
The answer, that he has given so many times, is given once again.

Because my brother is named Patrick! He says with the same inflection.
My husband is the fifth of eight children.
The brother born before him was named, Patrick.
Had his mother known she would have a son on St. Patrick’s Day…

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When my five children were young, I was always cooking for seven people.
I was used to cooking large meals.
I found it challenging to reduce a recipe.
As they went off to college, I still found myself cooking for a crowd.

There were not many leftovers when my children were young.
Since two of the five were boys, I knew that food would soon disappear.
Back in those days, we went through thirteen gallons of milk each week!
Anyone who knows our family can attest to the truth of that fact.

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A new year has dawned.
I remember how hard it was to write the correct year on my papers in school.
It took me weeks before my mind accepted the writing of the new year.
It took me a while to wrap my head around the passage of time.

If truth be told, I don’t have the need to write the date as much as before.
I’m not in school, with my name and date required on the top of my papers.
I’m not writing checks, since most payments are online.
The date is everywhere we look: on our phones, our laptops, and our watches.

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I was quite young when I stayed over my grandmother’s house.
My aunt was there as well.
I remember she wanted to take me to the movies.
She wanted to take me to see, Fantasia.

It must have been re-released with stereo sound.
My aunt loved music and thought that I would love the classical music as well.
I was taking piano lessons during those years, so the music was wonderful.
However, there was one scene that terrified me.

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I bought the sandals.
Not just one pair, but one in each of the three colors.
The black pair was for me to wear when I went outside to water my plants.
The pink and yellow pair would be so cute with a sundress.

My youngest daughter has the same sandals in two of the colors.
I cannot wear Birkenstock sandals, though, I think they’re so cute.
These sandals looked like Birkenstock sandals.
However, they were not cork, but rubber with a platform sole.

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Fall decorations are everywhere.
The beginning of October is fall decorating time at our house.
I go to a local barn and buy cornstalks, pumpkins, and anything else that is needed.
I used to get a bale of hay but have not gotten one of those for years.

This local barn has handmade items as well.
I have purchased two wooden pumpkins, one quite large and a smaller one.
I have a wooden fence that says, Welcome, and has both a crow and a pumpkin on it.
I also have a scarecrow that our youngest daughter named, Patches, when she was little.

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Two of our granddaughters are playing soccer this fall.
One is six years old and the other is five years old.
The six-year-old plays on a local field.
We went to see her last weekend.

The five-year-old lives a little less than an hour away.
We went to see her this past weekend.
We got to the field with our chairs.
We saw our son and daughter-in-love on the sidelines.

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This Whisper was originally published two years ago. It is always this time of year I ponder the paradox of my walnut tree. Everything I think about my walnut tree today, I thought then as well. It is worth repeating.

Trees are beautiful.
As fall approaches, the trees will be ablaze in color.
The air will get chillier.
The leaves will fall and carpet the ground.

I love trees.
Oh…but my walnut tree.
It is a nuisance.
That sounds harsh, but my feelings towards it are justified.

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Two of my grandchildren began school this week.
One granddaughter is in first grade.
Another granddaughter is in kindergarten.
Both are so excited about their new teacher and their new friends.

I suggested to my daughter that we meet at a local coffee shop.
The day we met was three days before the first grader would start school.
The first grader and her three siblings couldn’t wait for some Grandma time.
This local coffee shop has wonderful doughnuts that they love to eat.

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I can still hear the sound in my memory.
It was the sound of summer.
It was heard in the distance, and any child knew they had to hurry.
There was only a little bit of time to run and tell anyone within earshot, it’s coming!

The music I heard was tinny.
It was played through some sort of antiquated speaker that cut in and out on a whim.
You could hear the music blocks away, which was the intent.
The same song, played on a loop, was Pied Piper-ish as it called neighborhood children.

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